


By Force of Habit

by runawayballista



Category: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayballista/pseuds/runawayballista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is Matthew's unsavory habits that bring him to Castle Ostia in the first place, and those same habits that bring him a little closer to another spy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Force of Habit

Spies came from all walks of life. Some were born into it, others chosen and trained. There were those who sought it out, drawn to the airs of secrecy and shadow. Matthew simply fell into it.

He’d always been a sneak, always had a knack for sticky fingers and the like. It was never out of necessity — his parents, they weren’t rich, but they did all right — but there was no other thrill like it. When he was seven, he started climbing up the neighbor’s eaves just to listen to them talk at night. They never said anything interesting, but he did it just to do it. They never knew he was there.

Hobby turned to habit, and he found himself slipping into shadows, dangling from walls and rooftops and window ledges just to listen to the talk of mundane people. He snuck in through back doors of shops after hours, rifled through their merchandise and took things, just little things, just to take them. He did it almost every night, and his parents never even knew he was missing. He was always back in bed long before dawn, and he was never caught.

Except for the time he went to the town at Castle Ostia on an errand for his mother. Surely there were cobblers closer than the one here, but his mother had been insistent; she would have no other. Matthew happily obliged her, seeing no reason to refuse the opportunity to spend time in a bigger village than his own. But he grew quickly bored, waiting for the cobbler’s work to be done, and soon fell into his habits. The sun was setting, and there were buildings here taller than the ones back home. The prospect of exploring them was exciting.

He hadn’t even finished picking the lock on the back of the baker’s before a hand closed itself over his shoulder. Alarmed, he froze immediately, his picks dropping with the tiniest of clatters. He hadn’t heard a single footstep — his heart jumped up to his throat as he was hoisted firmly to his feet and turned around.

The man before him was at least a head taller than Matthew himself, bald, but with a full beard touched with grey. His hooked nose and deep-set eyes made him look dark and foreboding, and the unamused set of his mouth didn’t help either. “Forget something, lad?” His voice, though quiet, was deep and full. Matthew merely gave him a nervous smile in response.

The man looked down at him, one side of his mouth twisted in stern thought. He studied Matthew’s face, though to the youth it felt somehow like his mind was being probed. “You weren’t going to steal anything, were you?”

It seemed like a trick question. Matthew opted not to answer this time, either. After a few moments of silence, the man snorted. He seemed amused, somehow. Matthew suspected that this man was not the baker.

“I’ve been watching you all day, you know,” said the man, lightly stroking his beard. Matthew stiffened. If he’d been watching, did that mean this old man had seen him take the penny candy from that lady’s stall, or the coin from that old man’s pocket? He’d returned the coin, actually, and the candy had been worth all of three copper pennies, but he suspected that this man wouldn’t care. “You’re quite the clever lad, you know. I’m willing to bet that no one’s ever caught you before, nor punished you, either.”

Matthew just kept on smiling. His face was beginning to feel like it might crack in half. The man stared at him. Matthew wondered if he should run.

“Come on, lad, don’t be afraid to answer. I’m not going to arrest you, you know.”

Matthew’s expression turned suspicious. After a moment, he judged it safe to speak. “Why should I believe that?”

“I work at Castle Ostia, for the marquess himself. My job entails tasks far more important than arresting every snot-nosed scoundrel looking for a free meal.” He ran a hand over the smooth surface of his head, and Matthew’s eyes darted up and down, sizing him up. He was dressed plainclothes, but the cut and make of them was nice. They could definitely be the clothes of someone working for the marquess. “My name is Grayson, if that fact instills any trust in you, though skittish as you are, I doubt it. What’s your name, lad?”

Matthew eyed him carefully, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. It didn’t look like he’d be carted off at any rate. “Matthew,” he said shortly, with the slightest shrug.

“And how old are you, Matthew?”

“I’m fifteen.” He peered up at Grayson. “Why do you care, is what I want to know, if you’re not going to arrest me. And what sort of work do you do for the marquess? You don’t look like a knight.”

“Ah, so you do speak in full sentences.” Grayson smiled. “I tasks for the marquess as his lordship asks me of them. They are generally of a more…discreet nature than those of my brother knights.”

“You’re a spy, then.”

“Clever lad. Ah, I said that already, didn’t I? Well, it shows.” Grayson rocked back slightly, hands on hips. “You can stop looking so nervous now. I already told you I’m not going to arrest you. You’re far too talented for that. Yes…” He gave Matthew an appraising look, cocking his head slightly to one side. “A crowded marketplace, broad daylight, and I wonder how many people saw you take the copper coin from that old man? Not many, I imagine. But not so few as those who saw you put it back.” He chuckled lightly at the leery surprise that sprung up on Matthew’s face. “I think you show some real promise, lad. I’d be a fool to throw you in prison for that.”

“So are you going to stand around congratulating me all night, or what?” Matthew retorted. “What is it you want from me?”

A grin stretched across Grayson’s face, revealing rows of white teeth, and he held one hand out. “How would you like a job, Matthew?”

===

It was a few months before things were all settled and Matthew had been invited to move into Castle Ostia. Though his parents had just about burst into tears with pride and joy at the prospect, he was a little wary of the idea, still. Grayson seemed a decent enough man, but Matthew didn’t know much about their marquess except his name and his policies. To work for a man he hardly knew — well, it didn’t really go against any of his principles, but it made him a little antsy. Of course, he’d never get a better paying job offer, he was certain, and the notion seemed fun and exciting. Grayson was certainly invested in exploring Matthew’s talents, that was for sure.

His first few weeks at Castle Ostia were a whirlwind of adjustments and instruction, new things and people and places. Matthew met the marquess for the first time, and though he was gruff and haughty, there seemed to be a kind nature about him. There was little time for rest, and even less for play — and at first, he got lost in the castle’s enormous halls more than once. There was a whole host of people he met in his first few weeks whose names and faces he was convinced he would never come to remember, and most of all, there were lessons. It wasn’t all fancy footwork and sneaking into shadows, as Matthew quickly learned; there were politics, and rules that governed them, and those were just as important. Grayson intended to make Matthew a spy, and a fine one at that.

It was a while before he was formally introduced to any of the other spies. Perhaps Grayson felt that Matthew had to be ready, or maybe it was just that in the rush of the first few months, he had simply neglected to. But the afternoon on which Matthew had been first invited into the briefing room was one he wouldn’t soon forget.

Some of the people gathered in there Matthew was certain he’d met, though their names escaped him. They were men and women of all different sizes, shapes, and ages, few of them with the dark, shady look one might expect of a spy. But of course, a spy wasn’t supposed to _look_ like a spy, Matthew knew. That would defeat the purpose.

Grayson introduced him to each of them in turn, a firm hand on his shoulder. Last around the table was a pretty youth whose brightly colored hair caught his eye. If she were older than him, than it didn’t look to be by much. She was feminine and slender, though rather tall for her age, and though her face was pretty, her eyes were as serious as he’d ever seen. He could have sworn he’d seen her before, maybe around the halls near his quarters. He couldn’t be sure.

He gave her a wide, cheeky grin when Grayson introduced her, but all he got in response was the smallest of perfunctory smiles and a slight nod of her head. She seemed to be a tough nut for someone so young.

“Well, I think that about covers it,” said Grayson, clapping him on the shoulder once. “Welcome to the ranks, lad.” There was a murmured chorus of agreement from the collection of spies; a few of them smiled at the newcomer. Matthew wasn’t quite sure what to make of them yet.

“I’ve business to attend to with the marquess. Leila, will you show Matthew the armory?”

The pretty redhead rose to her feet with another nod. Matthew glanced at Grayson. “But I’ve already seen the armory,” he said.

“Not this one, you haven’t.” Leila spoke for the first time. Her voice was smooth like sandglass, with a rich, earthy tone to it. “This one’s special. Come on — I’ll show you.”

Without another word, she started off at a brisk pace toward the door with long, even strides. Matthew hustled to catch up with her, rounding a corner after her in the hallway.

“What’s so special about this armory?” he piped, shoving his hands in his pockets once he’d matched her pace.

“It’s for use by us only,” she replied, eyes fixed ahead. “The soldiers aren’t supposed to have access to it. It’s not just weapons — it holds all the tools at our disposal.” She flicked a glance his way, just for a moment. “You’ll see.”

She was so serious in comparison to himself, the smile markedly absent from her face, but she seemed to harbor no particular dislike to him. He studied her face for a minute, noticing the small beauty spot beneath her mouth, committing to memory the shape of her eyes and face. Abruptly she turned her face toward him, one eyebrow arched.

“Can I help you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring.” She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and shook her head. He thought he detected the faintest hint of amusement.

“Oh, I — well, you’re just a bit young to be a spy, is all.”

“So are you.” She came to a halt before a door that looked as innocuous as any, but Matthew could see that what might look like an ordinary lock to passersby was quite a bit more involved than the ones on the chamber doors. Leila drew a long, slender key on a ring from her pocket. “You must have left quite an impression on Sir Grayson.”

“You could say that.” There was a soft click as Leila turned the key in the lock, and Matthew stepped back to let her swing the door outward. “Did he recruit you, too? Is that his thing? Going around, recruiting youths for gainful employment?”

“Not really. I was born here. My father served the marquess similarly.” She stepped inside, and he followed. Illuminated by the gentle glow of torchlight were walls upon walls of knives, rope, picks — tools the names for which Matthew did not even know. His curious eyes roved over every wall and shelf, thirstily drinking in the sight.

“Ah, yeah?” he said, temporarily distracted. “What, he’s a spy too?”

“He was. He passed away in the line of the duty some years ago.”

When Matthew glanced at her, he expected to see downcast eyes, a touch of sad color to her cheeks. Instead, she met his gaze with a jarring clarity. There was nothing shy about her. There was sadness, to be sure, but it was hardened over, like fresh bone over an old injury. It was startling.

She pried the key off the ring and pressed it into his palm, almost brusquely. “I have things to attend to,” she told him. “Please, feel free to look around. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but if you take anything without permission, Sir Grayson will see to it that you suffer the consequences. You can return the key to my quarters at your convenience.” She turned, and stepped toward the door. Matthew made a half-step toward her, but rocked back on his heels.

“And where’s that?” he piped. Leila turned, and gave him a look with pursed lips that was half bewilderment, half exasperation.

“It’s the room across from yours,” she said, as if in hope that he were joking, and disappeared around the corner. Her footsteps away were brisk, and the sound of them quickly faded.

=== 

A knock on Leila’s door produced no response, though Matthew waited patiently for once. He knocked a second, then a third time, before contenting himself with the conclusion that she must still have been out, attending to those things she had mentioned. Wondering if he should simply slip the key under her door, he gingerly tried the door. It swung gently inward.

Her room was simple in its furnishings — a bed, a desk, a chair, a chest of drawers, and a locked trunk at the foot of the bed. She seemed not to be fond of lavish decoration, as everything in the room was overwhelmingly plain. It was neat, and clean, and it seemed rather mature for her. He wondered briefly if this had been her father’s room before her.

He hesitated on entering. What if the room was trapped? What if simply by entering uninvited, he had halfway triggered some booby trap just waiting for him to set foot inside? After all, she was a spy, and the door was unlocked. Perhaps it was a prank, just to teach him a lesson for being foolish enough to think he could actually enter unharmed. His curiosity, however, was insatiable, and the risk all too tempting, and he gritted his teeth and winced as he ever so gently set one foot on the floor across the threshold.

Nothing happened, and Matthew immediately felt incredibly foolish for entertaining the thought at all.

Still, he felt it might seem unsavory should someone catch him alone in the room of a young girl at the castle, fellow spy or no, and he cast a backward glance over his shoulder as he strolled inside, producing the key from his pocket. He would leave it, and he would quickly depart before anyone had time to ask him questions. This might have been his home now, but it was hard to shake the momentary thought that he did not belong.

He thought to leave the key on her desk, where she would be sure to notice it, but as he laid it down next to an inkwell, a single object out of place caught his eye. It was a hairpin — cheap and simple, but pretty, the metal painted almost the same shade of rosy red as Leila’s hair. She must have forgotten to put it away before she left. Matthew swept it off the desk, examined it briefly, and dropped it into his pocket. With a cheap and cheeky smile, he left the room, door closed behind him.


End file.
